


we made a garden of the love we found

by grimmauld



Series: nanowrimo 2020 [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, POV Outsider, Weddings, fuck you flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27326470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimmauld/pseuds/grimmauld
Summary: He had just settled in on the stool, calculus book open on the counter, resting unceremoniously on top of a mess of scratch paper and old receipts, when the door slammed open, bell above the door jingling violently with the force. Peter looked up with a start. Peter took in the man as he stormed up to the counter, eyebrows furrowed and mouth twisted in an irritated scowl.He strode up to the counter and slapped a fifty dollar note right on top of Peter’s textbook.“How do I passive-aggressively say ‘fuck you’ in flowers?”
Relationships: Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Series: nanowrimo 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995103
Comments: 31
Kudos: 452





	we made a garden of the love we found

**Author's Note:**

> fic title from: honeybee by the head and the heart
> 
> i got this idea and then my brain didn't shut up til i wrote it so it became the first fic for my nano challenge! i did very minimal editing so all mistakes are my own

Peter’s work day was as boring as it always was. That was harsh. Peter loved his job, he truly did. He worked at his Aunt May’s flower shop, _May Blooms,_ which worked well for the both of them. Peter got to take some of the stress off of May’s shoulders, and let her have some time off, too, and May knew his college schedule better than he did most days, so scheduling was never an issue _._ It’s just _slow_ , especially on dreary Wednesday mornings. He worked in a little flower shop that was nestled, with a crumbling yellow-painted exterior, between two tall, grey buildings on a bustling street in New York City. Peter spent his time, when there were no customers to attend to, pruning the dead leaves off of various pot plants, (he prided himself on not having many to clip), watering, arranging pre-ordered bouquets in the backroom or—if he had finished doing what he was actually paid to do—catching up on his homework, sat on the wobbly stool behind the cash register.

Peter didn’t like the morning shifts. The store almost never had any customers before at least 10 am on weekdays, and that day, being a Wednesday, Peter knew he wasn’t likely to get any until half eleven at the earliest. He could write an (out of order, he’s not _that_ good) list of a day working at the shop—business man comes in before work to buy flowers for his wife-secretary-girlfriend, teenager buys a single rose for their first date, someone buys _I’m-sorry-I-screwed-someone-who-wasn’t-you_ flowers, which _classy,_ Peter could go on—which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, he just wanted something a bit more interesting to happen.

He had just settled in on the stool, calculus book open on the counter, resting unceremoniously on top of a mess of scratch paper and old receipts, when the door slammed open, bell above the door jingling violently with the force. Peter looked up with a start. Peter took in the man as he stormed up to the counter, eyebrows furrowed and mouth twisted in an irritated scowl. He was slightly on the shorter side, with shoulder-length blonde hair and he was wearing a slightly rumpled grey suit. He looked to be around ten or so years older than Peter, probably thirty-one or thirty-two. He looked angry. Angrier than anyone Peter had ever seen buying flowers before.

He strode up to the counter and slapped a fifty dollar note right on top of Peter’s textbook.

“How do I passive-aggressively say ‘fuck you’ in flowers?”

Peter blinked, shocked, “I’m sorry?”

The man looked at him impatiently, “My,” he paused, “partner, he lied to me _again_ and I want to give him flowers that say ‘fuck you’. He doesn’t know flower language, but our secretary does and she’ll tell him. She’d _better_ tell him.”

“Okay,” Peter said slowly. He stood up from the counter, handed the man back his money. (“Pay at the end, please.”)

He pulled an old paperback from below the counter, the pages yellowed. He thumbed through the book, writing down a list of flowers that fit the definition the man was looking for.

“Floriography,” he explained, “is fascinating, but I’ll be honest I’ve never had to do hate-flowers before, so I hope you’ll forgive my needing the dictionary. We can go with yellow carnations for ‘you have disappointed me’, petunias for ‘anger’, orange lilies for ‘hatred’, meadowsweet for ‘uselessness’ and then yellow chrysanthemums mean ‘slighted love’. How does that sound?”

The man thought for a moment, “take out the orange lilies, please. I don’t hate him, even though I wish I could right now. The yellow chrysanthemums are a bit strong, but I think Karen—our secretary—will appreciate the drama of it.”

Peter smiled, “we can replace them with geraniums for ‘stupidity’, then.”

“Perfect.”

He grabbed a faded apron off of the hook behind the counter pulling it over his head and tying it as he began to walk around the store, collecting flowers for the bouquet, the man following him.

“You’re taking this, frankly, quite peculiar request quite well,” the man said, eyeing Peter curiously.

Peter gave a half shrug, “I wanted something interesting, and interesting I got. Besides, my boyfriend, Harley, will get a kick out of this when I tell him about it.”

He didn’t normally reveal his relationship status, or sexuality for that matter, to strangers, but something about this man made Peter trust him. He was likeable, even when asking for angry flowers.

The man hummed in acknowledgement. Peter walked back over to the counter, flowers cradled in his arms.

“You can either wait here for about ten minutes while I arrange these for you now or you could have them delivered to your recipient with a vase included for no extra charge. The delivery will cost a bit extra though and will take one to two business days, depending on where you get them sent.”

“Go ahead and arrange them now. I’m on my way to work, but we work together so if I can make him wait, then that’s all the better.”

Peter chuckled, “seems like he really pissed you off.”

The man’s eyes flashed in renewed anger as he nodded his head.

“Can I have a name for the order, please? We have a bit of an old-fashioned system at the store for the books.”

“Foggy Nelson.”

Foggy. Right. That’s a name.

“Like… The weather?”

“The weather, yeah,” he said at the same time as Peter.

“Okay. I’m Peter, by the way. I didn’t get to say my customer spiel when you entered. May—my aunt, she owns the store—constantly has to remind me to say it. So. Yeah.”

Sometimes, Peter wished he never learned how to speak. He closed his textbook with a heavy _thunk_ , placing the flowers on top of it as he searched for a pen amongst the mess. He scrawled Foggy’s name and the shorthand for the flowers he had asked for down on the topmost page of the scrap notepad that his book was resting on, chicken scratch handwriting barely legible.

“Alright, if you’re sure you don’t mind waiting, I’ll head into the back now to get these ready for you.”

“No problem,” Foggy smiled, “they don’t have to look all that pretty. He’s blind.”

Peter paused mid-step before shrugging. It’s not like the whole interaction wasn’t weird already.

Peter left the cluttered front area of the shop and headed into the small room behind it. He trimmed the leaves off of the stems of all the flowers with practised speed, cutting them down to an even length and bundling them together in a way that showcased each individual flower. He dashed out to the front room to grab a few more cuttings when the bouquet ended up looking a little sparse. Foggy looked up from where he was inspecting a succulent on a shelf filled with little pot plants.

“Just a moment!” Peter called as he ducked through the doorway once more. 

Foggy made a noise of agreement, going back to looking at the selection of plants.

Peter prepared the new flowers and added them to the collection he already had ready, fussing with the placements for a few minutes before he was finally satisfied. He taped the bouquet together with a small amount of florist tape, before wrapping the flowers in a brown paper that May thought made the bouquets look ‘homemade’ and ‘rustic’. He tied the paper tight with some twine, tying a simple bow at the midpoint of the flower stems.

He brought the bouquet out and handed it off to Foggy to inspect.

“Would you like a card to go along with your flowers today, Mr. Nelson?”

Foggy looked thoughtful, “Sure, if Karen doesn’t tell him I think he’s been a dick, then he can listen to me read him my elegant ‘fuck off’. And, please just call me Foggy. Nobody even calls me Mr. Nelson at work, and I’m a _lawyer_.”

Peter laughed lightly, handing him a small rectangle of good quality cardstock proudly displaying the logo MJ had drawn for May on one side. Wait. Foggy was a lawyer. Maybe this partner of his was just a business partner, and Peter had implied it was a romantic situation. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Hopefully Foggy wasn’t offended by it. He didn’t seem to be, but people making assumptions on other people's sexualities and relationship statuses was never appreciated. Then again, he hadn’t corrected Peter when he suggested the yellow chrysanthemums, so maybe he wasn’t far off after all.

“It’ll be $47.34 whenever you’re ready.”

Foggy handed him the fifty dollar bill and picked up a pen from the counter, bending over to scribble out a message on the card Peter had handed him a moment earlier.

Peter waited patiently with his change in hand for Foggy to finish his writing. He straightened up with a satisfied smile, tucking the card in between a petunia and a carnation. He took his change from Peter and thanked him quickly.

“Have a great day, and I hope that your flowers are appreciated. Or- Well-” Peter stammered, forgetting that his autopilot response wasn’t able to apply to the situation he was in.

Foggy laughed, a proper belly laugh that filled Peter with a weird sense of comfort and warmth. Who _was_ this guy?

“He’ll definitely not appreciate them. Karen will find the whole thing _hilarious_ though, so it’s a win either way.”

Peter nodded his head, wiping his hands on his apron, watching Foggy leave the store with another smile.

Peter sighed as he pulled the apron off, reopening his calculus textbook and settling in on the wobbly stool. He kind of hoped to see the man again. He was curious as to how his partner reacted to the flowers.

-

Peter got his wish three days later, not that he knew it at the time. 

He was working on an uncharacteristically sunny Saturday afternoon—if the rain from the past few days was anything to go by—when the shop door opened. A tall, handsome man had entered the shop, red glasses covering his eyes and a white cane clicking across the store floor.

Peter cleared his throat to make his presence known.

“Oh. Hello, I’m looking for some flowers?”

“Welcome to _May Blooms,_ my name is Peter and we certainly have flowers. Any particular occasion?”

“I need something that says ‘I’m really sorry, please stop making me sleep on the couch’, is that possible?”

“I- Okay. I’ll see what I can come up with.”

Peter suddenly remembered that customer, Foggy, from Wednesday. What if this man was his partner, coming in for apology flowers. He shook his head, casting the thought aside. Just because this man was also blind and looking to apologise to someone, didn’t mean that he was the same person Foggy was angry at. Peter didn’t bother consulting the floriography dictionary this time, these kinds of bouquets were commonplace and he knew the flowers he’d need without a second thought.

“The regular bouquets are 45 dollars before tax, or we have a slightly smaller option for 30 dollars, or a large bouquet for 55 dollars.”

“The regular is fine, thank you.”

Peter nodded, before realising the man couldn’t see him. “No problem. The flowers I would suggest are purple hyacinths, which literally mean ‘I am sorry, please forgive me’, gladiolus, which means both ‘I’m really sincere’ and ‘give me a break’, so you’re covered for every angle, some daisies and white carnations for ‘innocence’, and some red roses for ‘love’ and ‘respect’. Sounds good?”

“I’m sure they’ll go over well, that would be excellent.”

Peter grabbed his apron off the hook and quickly put it on, “you can just wait here while I go and collect the flowers, if that’s alright?”

“No problem.”

Peter hurried around the store, picking out the flowers that looked easiest for him to prepare. He returned to the counter with his arms full of cuttings.

“Now, you can either wait in the shop here for about ten minutes while I get the bouquet arranged for you in the back now or you could have them delivered to your recipient with a vase included for no extra charge. The delivery will cost a bit extra though and will take one or two business days, depending on where you want the flowers sent.”

“I’m in no rush, I made sure to factor this stop into my lunch break. I can wait.”

“Not a problem, May I please have a name for the order? We have a bit of an old-fashioned system at the store for the books,” Peter explained.

“Matt. Murdock. Matt Murdock.”

Peter laughed under his breath. He scribbled the name down on the back of some discarded receipt paper, noting which flowers the bouquet consisted of.

“Alright, I’ll just be in the back getting these ready for you.”

Matt nodded.

Peter ducked into the backroom, preparing the stems and fussing with the petals on each flower until he was satisfied with the fullness of the bouquet. He taped the stems, wrapped them in the brown paper and tied them up with the fraying twine. The bouquet was pretty. Peter snapped a quick picture. In the back of his mind the interaction with Foggy from Wednesday replayed. He had taken a picture of that bouquet, too. 

The two bouquets matched up in his head. They _had_ to be for each other. No one else describes bouquets the way they had. Matt just _had_ to be Foggy’s partner.

He returned to the front shop, bouquet in hand.

“Would you like a card to go along with your flowers today, Mr. Murdock?

“No, thank you, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Of course. In that case, it’ll be $47.34, would you like to pay by cash or card?”

Matt handed Peter his card. Peter swiped the card, turning the machine for Matt to input his PIN number.

The machine dinged as the payment went through. Matt smiled gratefully, nodding at Peter as he turned to leave.

“Have a great rest of your day,” Peter called.

As soon as the door closed, he pulled his phone from his front pocket, opening his text thread with Harley. He wasn’t going to believe this shit.

-

When Foggy came into the store again—that following Wednesday, around the same time he had come in the week prior—Peter was certain that he and Matt from Saturday afternoon were talking to each other through bouquets. He wasn’t sure if he should ask. Would that be too weird? He had unintentionally become invested in their storyline. He felt like a side character in their great romance and, honestly, he wasn’t mad about it. 

“Hello again,” Foggy said with a smile, coming up to the front of the store to lean on the counter.

“Hi there! Did your angry floral bouquet go over well?” Peter asked, returning the kind smile Foggy had thrown him.

Foggy laughed, “yeah, they did. I was right, Karen did get a kick out of them and Matt, my partner, didn’t seem to have any complaints even after she explained the meaning behind them. I read him my card anyway, even though he knew they were unpleasant flowers.”

 _Matt._ Peter was right, they _were_ connected. Harley was going to lose his _shit_. 

“I’m glad, then.”

Foggy tapped his fingers against the counter, “I received a bouquet in return.”

Peter feigned surprise, “did you? Was it any good?”

“Oh, it was lovely,” Foggy reassured with a light-hearted grin, he wasn’t actually cross, “I just wanted to check whether my favourite florist had decided to be a traitor to the cause.”

Peter shrugged, as if to say _what can you do?_

“Well, I’m looking to respond,” Foggy continued, “I’m thinking this time I’d like a bouquet that says ‘fine’—a touch exasperated, though—‘fine, you’re forgiven, but if you even think of doing it again I will not hesitate to move every piece of furniture a few inches to the left’.”

By that point, Peter didn’t even react to the strange request. He had already been sifting through flowers in his head that would fit the description Foggy had given him.

They chatted amicably while Peter collected the flowers he wanted to include. He gathered some monkshood for the threat Foggy wanted to make, along with some pretty pink oleander flowers. He mixed in some roses for ‘I still love you’, and some solid red carnations, for acceptance. 

He invited Foggy into the back room while he prepared the flowers, even though he wasn’t really supposed to. Foggy and Matt were interesting, certainly more so than any other customer Peter had had to serve before.

Foggy was telling Peter a story about Matt from when they were in college together, something about a woman named Marci, a cactus and a backless black dress, when Harley arrived at the store from his morning class.

He walked into the back room of the store, pressed a kiss to the top of Peter’s head and had already started complaining about his shitty engineering professor before he had even noticed they weren’t alone.

Foggy was watching them with unconcealed mirth.

“Oh. Who’s this, darlin’?” Harley asked, looking more confused than anything.

“You remember that really weird passive-aggressive bouquet I made last week? This is the guy that bought it.”

Harley’s entire face lit up.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Pete here was hopin’ you’d come in again.”

Foggy laughed, “I’m glad I left such an impression. My partner—boyfriend—came in to buy response flowers on Saturday and now here I am. I guess this is our thing now. I’m not mad about it, it’s certainly a story to tell the grandkids, you know?”

Harley snorted.

“Well, I’m sure glad you picked Pete’s shop, don’t tell May but he gets so bored in the mornings. Besides, he’s been keeping me updated in this love story for the ages, I think we’re both far too invested at this point.”

Peter rolled his eyes, putting the final touches on the bouquet. He handed Foggy the flowers.

“I’ll ring you up in the front room. And ignore my boyfriend, he never learnt when to shut up,” he said, throwing a glare over his shoulder at Harley, who just responded by sticking his tongue out.

Foggy laughed again, “don’t worry about it. Matt is far, far worse.”

Peter went through the motions of ringing up Foggy’s purchase. Foggy left the store with a joyful wave. 

Peter thumbed the business card Foggy had given him ( _Nelson and Murdock: Attorneys at Law._ “In case you need any legal help from two lawyers with extremely negotiable rates, Lord knows we need the money.”).

He was certainly looking forward to Matt’s response.

-

Matt entered the shop the next day, to Peter’s surprise. Matt walked directly up to the counter, cane clicking so fast the stick was blurring in front of him, a look of pure determination filtering over his features.

“I need flowers that ask him to marry me. Fog- He- I need to marry him. He likes the flower talking. Help me?”

Peter blinked in shock. Holy shit. That’s a big ask. He pulled his faded green apron off of the hook, tugging the neck loop over his head hurriedly. Of course, Peter was extremely good at his job, so he already knew exactly what flowers to use.

“That’s really sweet,” Peter smiled, “okay. Here’s what I’m thinking. Peonies, because they mean ‘gay life’ and ‘happy marriage’, orange blossom for ‘eternal love’ and ‘marriage and fruitfulness’, forget-me-nots, which mean ‘true love’ and ‘memories’, red roses, and some white carnations for ‘pure love’.”

Matt nodded frantically. Peter hurried around the store, snipping flowers with his favourite pair of pruning shears. He picked all of the very best flowers the store had to offer. Flowers with the fullest blooms, brightest petals, sweetest smells. He had developed a bit of a soft spot for Foggy, though the man was ten years his senior and they barely knew one another past a customer-store attendant relationship. He felt a deep surge of fondness swell up inside of him as he collected and pruned the blossoms.

“You have a ring?” Peter asked casually as he worked away at the counter in the back room.

“Yeah,” Matt said, voice wavering slightly.

Peter hoped he wouldn’t cry. He’d never been very good at calming people down from tears, he tended to just cry with them.

“It’s going to go really well, I can feel it. I feel it in my bones, Mr. Murdock. I don’t know you or Foggy very well, but I can tell. He loves you a lot, and you love him. Why else would you both be willing to spend a, frankly, rather obscene amount on flowers—not that I’m complaining, you’re keeping my aunt in business and me in a job.”

Matt huffed out a strangled sounding laugh, “Thanks, kid.”

Peter wrapped the taped stems in brown paper, taking more care than he ever had before to get the bouquet to sit and look right. He tied it up with twine, looping the string around the flowers twice and tying a simple, neat bow at the front.

He handed Matt the flowers, accepting his credit card in return.

“So that comes out to be $32.34,” Peter said, swiping the card. He ignored the double take Matt did at the price.

“Is this not a regular sized bouquet?”

“No, it is.”

Matt smiled, “...Thanks, Peter.”

“Of course, sir.”

Peter handed Matt his card back. 

He turned and walked to the front door, “just Matt, is fine, kid.”

What is _with_ people and calling him ‘kid’. He’s twenty-one, for fuck’s sake. Peter rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile that was spreading.

-

The next time Foggy came into _May Blooms_ he wasn’t alone. Matt’s hand was tucked into the crook of Foggy’s elbow as he let himself be guided through the busy streets of Hell’s Kitchen.

“Hello, Peter,” Foggy called cheerfully as he pushed the front door open.

“Well, if it isn’t my favourite customer and you’re not alone this time! It’s nice to see the two of you together, finally.”

Foggy laughed, a hand coming up to rest on top of Matt’s where it lay on his arm. The action looked subconscious, like a new habit he had picked up to show off his engagement ring.

Peter let out a slightly embarrassing shriek of delight when he caught sight of it. Harley popped his head out into the front room from where he was working in the back. May had corralled him into doing some basic stock work for her. (He didn’t need corralling, he would have done it without her even asking him to if he had had the chance.)

“You alright, sweetheart?”

“Babe, Foggy and Matt are here.”

Harley smiled, fully coming out of the back room, dusting his hands on the brown apron May had pushed him into wearing.

“No shit? All go well, then?” He asked, looking to the two older men.

Foggy grinned blindingly, Matt’s own smile a little smaller, but no less happy.

“We’re looking to find out your policies on wedding flowers? Not buying anything today, but we want to know how much to budget for. We’re definitely buying from here, if you’re up for it,” Matt said, addressing Peter in a no-nonsense business tone.

Foggy rolled his eyes, still smiling.

“We also wanted to give you this,” he said, “there’s no pressure, of course.”

He handed Peter a sealed envelope, dark red paper with silver ink.

Peter looked at the envelope for a long second, before looking up at Foggy, “is this-”

“It’s an invitation to our wedding, yeah. You, your aunt, and Harley are all invited.”

Peter smiled, a little watery, “this is so kind of you. I’ll do everything I can to make sure I can attend. Thank you, truly.”

Foggy grinned at him again, “Like I said, it’s a story for the grandkids, and you played a big part in this chapter.”

Peter felt his eyes well up in tears. Harley’s hand came to rest on the small of his back, rubbing slow circles.

“You know, if you need a hand with your law firm, I could ask Mr. Stark to lend a hand? Weddings are so expensive and I don’t want to see you struggle with all you care about.”

Foggy’s eyebrows shot up as Matt’s mouth twisted a little.

“Mr. Stark. Like _Tony Stark_?”

“We don’t need handouts, kid.”

“Not a handout, Matt, just honest help.”

Matt still didn’t look convinced.

“Just- Think about it, yeah? I care about you both, in these past few weeks that you’ve come into the store, I really started to care about you.”

Matt’s lips quirked into a small smile, as though he couldn’t control it.

“We’ll think about it.”

-

The ceremony was beautiful. Peter and May had worked tirelessly in the weeks leading up to the wedding preparing the flowers, and it was worth it. Matt carried a bouquet up the aisle, after a lot of convincing from Foggy and Karen. 

It was a replica of the ‘fuck you’ bouquet Peter had made for Foggy all those months ago.

**Author's Note:**

> if u liked it toss me a kudos or a comment?
> 
> come hang out on tumblr: @gaylupin


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